


Perfectly Brewed

by Firondoiel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gift Exchange, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28353672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firondoiel/pseuds/Firondoiel
Summary: Three times Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had tea together, and one time they didn't.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 85
Collections: QuiObi Secret Santa 2020





	Perfectly Brewed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grapemartini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapemartini/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, Grape!!! :)

**One**

The sun had set hours ago leaving the room in darkness. 

He could turn on the light by the bed, but he did not. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed, foregoing any mat; choosing instead to sink into the unforgiving floor until his bones ached. It looked like he might have been meditating, but Qui-Gon hadn’t even attempted it. He had let his mind freeze over to escape the pain of the cruel barbs shredding through his thoughts. A hollowed-out emptiness sat heavy at his core. Did his lungs even work anymore? Was his heart still beating? 

It chilled him, but he knew if he let himself move or think, the grief would consume him again. Sometimes it was better to be numb. 

The bedroom door slid open. A beam of light streamed across the floor and fell across Qui-Gon’s lap. 

“Master?” 

_Obi-Wan._

Qui-Gon’s heart thudded against his ribs, and he took one slow inhale. 

“I don’t mean to disturb you.” Obi-Wan hesitantly approached, concern radiating from his every pore. “I just wanted to bring you this.” 

Light flooded into Qui-Gon through the Force, shining into the emptiness inside him. Obi-Wan was still young, but his Force signature was bright. So similar to dear Tahl that it almost hurt as much as it comforted. 

Qui-Gon swallowed hard. 

Something was pressed into his hand. He instinctively clutched it and caught a whiff of a familiar fragrance. 

_Sapir._

His other hand hung limply by his side, but Obi-Wan took it and brought it to the cup of tea so that Qui-Gon clasped it with both hands. Warmth bled into his cold, stiff fingers. Out of habit, Qui-Gon brought the cup to his lips and mindlessly sipped it. The tea washed over his parched tongue and soothed his raw throat. 

“I’ll be making breakfast soon if you are hungry.” Obi-Wan lingered, an anxious waver in his voice. He took a breath as if to say something more, but chose to bow and silently leave the room instead. 

Qui-Gon took another drink. The tea was perfectly brewed. He couldn’t recall ever showing Obi-Wan how to make it. The boy must have just taken note of his own accord. 

He turned his head towards the door, his muscles tight from disuse. He could sense Obi-Wan on the other side, worrying and at a loss for how to help his grieving master. He could also sense three more cups of sapir sitting on the table in the kitchen. Obi-Wan had experimented until he deemed it right. Qui-Gon braced his hand on the bed to pull himself to his feet, wincing at his joints popping and creaking. If he continued spending entire nights motionless on the floor, he would be an old man before his time. 

Grief banded around his chest, but he still walked through the bedroom door, choosing to join his padawan for breakfast and tea.

**Two**

It felt odd to see Obi-Wan without the long braid hanging from behind his right ear, but Qui-Gon couldn’t be prouder of his now former padawan. He ran his fingers along the severed braid wrapped around his wrist, grateful that he had been recovered enough to attend the ceremony earlier that day. 

“I have found myself alarmed that my braid is missing more than once today. Then I remember.” Obi-Wan smiled knowingly, watching Qui-Gon from a chair by his bedside. 

“You will find yourself accustomed to the lack of its presence sooner than you think.” Qui-Gon let go of the braid and leaned back against the pillows. Although he had been able to stand long enough to say the required words and cut Obi-Wan’s braid, it had exhausted him. The injury from Naboo ached in his chest. 

Obi-Wan took a drink of his tea and averted his eyes, appearing not to notice his old master’s pain, but Qui-Gon knew better. Obi-Wan was attuned to even the most minute details of his health and well-being. He had departed with Qui-Gon soon after the ceremony ended, insisting that he had already spoken to everyone he wished and had no desire to stay. 

Even with the hoverchair, Qui-Gon's pace was slow, but Obi-Wan never showed impatience. Instead of leaving once they reached Qui-Gon’s quarters, Obi-Wan followed him inside and helped him settle into bed before disappearing into the kitchen. He came back with the tea tray and had been sitting by Qui-Gon’s side conversing for the last hour. 

Qui-Gon remembered the day he was knighted. Master Dooku was not one for celebration, so he had spent a rather memorable time out with his friends that night. He never would have chosen a quiet evening with only his master for company. 

All of his attempts at encouraging Obi-Wan to seek out friends and celebrate had been gently refused then redirected back into the main conversation. Selfishly, Qui-Gon was glad. Soon Obi-Wan would be off on the grueling missions given to new knights. He would go from having Obi-Wan as a constant in his life to briefly seeing him twice a year, if he was fortunate. Obi-Wan wanting to spend this time with him allowed Qui-Gon to take in every minute. Soak up every smile, every clever quip, every chance to exist so close to Obi-Wan’s light. 

But guilt still twinged inside Qui-Gon as Obi-Wan set down his empty cup and reached for the kettle to refill it.

“As grateful as I am to be this recovered, I wish that I had the healers’ sanction to leave the Temple. I would have taken you to Dex’s or maybe that tavern you like.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “Master, I am quite content where I am.” 

“That well may be.” Qui-Gon let himself enjoy the surge of warmth in his chest. “But I am aware that a cup of tea is my idea of a delightful evening, not yours.”

A strange smile crossed Obi-Wan’s face. It held some amusement and affection, but there was also a trace of sadness. “Master,” he said softly, “Whatever brings you joy, brings me joy.”

Qui-Gon felt certain he was missing something, but was touched all the same. “Knight Kenobi, you really should call me Qui-Gon now." 

“Very well,” Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, as though preparing to do something new and strange. When he next spoke, it was deliberate, but warm. 

“Qui-Gon.” 

He refilled Qui-Gon’s cup and handed it to him with a slight nod.

**Three**

As Qui-Gon feared, they saw very little of each other over the next several years. He mostly remained in the Temple while Obi-Wan was sent to all corners of the universe. They kept in touch as best they could, whenever they could. But occasional conversations over a commlink or with a holo paled in comparison to having Obi-Wan living and breathing beside him. 

Although Qui-Gon enjoyed working with young initiates, it had taken him time to find peace at being Temple-bound. It helped that his situation meant that he never missed Obi-Wan when he stopped off between missions. No matter how demanding his schedule, Obi-Wan always met him for at least a quick cup of tea. 

Sometimes it pained Qui-Gon to see the exhaustion lining Obi-Wan’s too-thin face or the world-weariness forming in his eyes, but his light blazing in the Force did not change. 

Today, they had been allowed the entire afternoon. Their teacups sat on the table between them, long empty. There was much to be said, and they were both loath to part, even as the sun lowered in the sky. Obi-Wan had been gone for a year this time and was leaving that night for another mission. An undercover one this time, dangerous and expected to take up to another year if things went well. 

“I expect that you will be given the rank of Master upon your return.”

“The Council said as much.”

“It is very likely you will also be offered a seat on the Council.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “I don’t know if such an offer is as likely as all that.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. He knew Obi-Wan's modesty so well. An exemplary decade of knighthood had not changed it. “Master Yaddle is expected to step down within the next year. They would be fools not to give it to you.” 

“Have you not always considered the Council to be rather foolish in their decisions?” 

Qui-Gon snorted. “This would be a new level of foolery, even for them.” 

They shared a chuckle then lapsed into a comfortable silence, but Obi-Wan's brow furrowed after a moment. “I cannot see myself in a Council seat.” 

“I can.” Qui-Gon reached across the table to lay his hand over Obi-Wan’s. “When you were my padawan, I told you that you were already a far wiser man than myself, and that has only become more true with time. The Order needs someone with your particular insight, your skills, sitting on the Council. You would be honoring them with your acceptance, not the other way around.”

Color rose on Obi-Wan’s cheeks. Attention and praise tended to throw him, but Qui-Gon knew how much he appreciated them. Obi-Wan looked down at their hands. Qui-Gon realized that his thumb was stroking over the soft skin on Obi-Wan’s wrist. He froze. He thought he felt Obi-Wan's hand tremble. His fingers flexed, wanting to grab onto to Obi-Wan and not let go.

Obi-Wan raised his eyes to Qui-Gon. 

Qui-Gon stared back, helpless under that gaze. 

His heart pounded as waited for Obi-Wan to speak. Or maybe he would be the one to speak. But the words wouldn’t come to him. Was Obi-Wan also feeling strangely unbalanced? Qui-Gon reached for him through their bond, but Obi-Wan flinched from him, both mentally and physically. His shields slammed down as he pulled his hand away. Qui-Gon immediately released him. He felt disappointment and longing amid his bewilderment. 

“I am due at the landing pad soon.” Obi-Wan’s voice seemed abrupt to Qui-Gon's ears, but he latched onto his statement.

“Of course. I am sure you have some things to see to before departing.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, relieved. 

Qui-Gon walked him to the door. When Obi-Wan turned to say goodbye, Qui-Gon embraced him, holding him close before any more awkwardness clouded their parting. Obi-Wan stiffened at first, but quickly relaxed and embraced him back. 

Wetness stung Qui-Gon’s eyes. He blinked quickly. “May the Force be with you, my Obi-Wan.” The words came out hoarsely. 

_Come back to me._

The thought passed unbidden through his mind, begging to be said aloud, but Qui-Gon’s throat tightened. 

Obi-Wan’s lips brushed over Qui-Gon’s skin as he murmured something against Qui-Gon’s neck. His voice so quiet that Qui-Gon almost wasn’t sure he had spoken.

“I love you.” 

Obi-Wan was gone before Qui-Gon could react. 

**And one time**

The mission took eight months.

Eight agonizing months. Qui-Gon had no way to contact Obi-Wan while he was undercover, and he could only sometimes annoy updates on Obi-Wan’s secret mission out of Mace. Meditation helped, but Qui-Gon found himself pacing the floor more nights than not, everything turning over and over again in his mind.

But now Obi-Wan was coming home. He had successfully completed his mission much sooner than expected, making Qui-Gon both proud and exorbitantly thankful. Once he got word that Obi-Wan’s ship had landed, he put the tea kettle on and waited.

When Obi-Wan came to him, Qui-Gon drew him close, just as he did when they parted last. This time, there was a smack of lips. A gasp. Whispered confessions of truths long kept secret. 

The steaming cups of tea sat forgotten in the kitchen while the two of them stumbled down the hall, clutching at each other and refusing to let go. The sound of wet, desperate kisses and breathless moans drifted from the bedroom until well after the sapir turned cold.


End file.
